Antique Lyrics of Arda

[Walküre]

At the council


At the council we were summoned,
Held in the merry valley,
Where the door remains shut,
For anything wicked or cursed,
Given the guard of its keeper,
Ever he battled the Evil,
As the fiercest of its enemies,
Kind lord, wise beyond measure,
Purest soul in a dirty world,
Lineage of legend preceding him.

Compelled by the events,
Every race advice needed,
Grave news they had to reveal,
The One Ring came to the light,
Borne by unusual hands,
Humble, though, and never eager,
To seek dominion of such power,
That all corrupts and none spares,
Grievous lesson from days before,
The Second Age, of the Alliance.

The Keeper of the shrine knew,
They had to undo such thing,
How could one's craft succeed,
In breaking such malice of old?
Naught of common forging,
No known weapon at hand,
Useless knowledge for the case,
The answer was easy to guess,
That cursed gold, omen of doom,
It would have ceased to be.

If in the fire it had been cast,
In the original chasm,
In the land of the ashes,
At the slopes of hell,
Before the throne of the Tyrant,
In which hope is caused to fade,
Terror of ancient memory,
Stain on a free continent,
The Black Land of Mordor,
Of which Sauron is fell emperor.

Thus, fate made it so,
That a Fellowship was born,
Guided by a tiny being,
Yet resilient as very few on earth,
Bearing the worst burden,
Alone, in the voyage, in the end,
Though some companions he had,
For the common and sole goal,
Sharp sword, rapid bow and an axe,
Fellowship of the Ring, we pray.

[Walküre]

I'll be singing joyful chants


I'll be singing joyful chants,
When the wound is mended,
As war is made end,
When the bell of victory rings,
Finally, at the closure of things,
The Black Throne shall fall,
His black heart will be pierced,
From one side to another,
The menacing cloud is blown away,
The stronghold of Men is definitely safe.

Aye, the contest we won,
With sacrifice and grievous toll,
Caught by surprise,
The assault was massacre and horrible carnage,
Led by hatred and ruthless will,
To kill human hope and open the door to a new night,
This is not be, however, for triumph belongs to us,
Let us honour the dead and pray for courage,
Now, we should head to the top of the Sentinel City,
Where the White Rider shall crown our new king.

[Walküre]

The One you mirror


One of the first,
Beloved by the most,
To come to the light,
In guise of grace and might.

Despised by the hopeless dark,
Contrast was ever stark,
Clothed with hallowed majesty, for the One you mirror,
Clear and pure, away from error.

[Walküre]

Blazing breath


As the strongest wind, slashing the air,
Catastrophe, come out of his lair,
He seeks gold, the treasure inside the mountain-realm, whose gate is torn down by blazing breath,
Descending the skies, a dreadful dragon much havoc has wrought, willing to sow fire and reap death.

[Walküre]

Maiden of woods and forests


Maiden of woods and forests,
Of the kin of Ñolofinwë the Valiant,
She rejoices at the wonders of nature,
Swift and rapid among the gardens of Aman,
Even more through the green of Oromë,
Where she would go for hunting,
With the company of her siblings,
Long bows and apt blades,
And from her family she wished not to part,
Electing exile and pain, suffering in the lands of grief.

[Walküre]

Release us from such fear


Release us from fear,
Empress of Light,
Crafter of hope,
Where there was none,
Indeed, since the dawn of the earth,
You any evil have loathed,
Its path you hindered,
As hindered was the one of the Archangels,
The worst wound you have taken,
In seeing your erstwhile Lamps crumbling.

Nay, you were not to lose hope,
To forswear the cause,
Ruin you mended,
Good was made anew,
From the ashes of failure,
So that the Evil was not to win,
Except for the illusion of sham victory,
The Enemy will never learn,
Bridges he may burn,
But never shall our faith in the divine potency perish.

[Walküre]

Conjuring nightmares


How hast thou fallen so low?
Destructor of symmetry, herald of woe,
Conjuring nightmares, in the hour of midnight,
When the ghoul cometh forth, after lurking in twilight.

[Walküre]

Sun flare


Sun flare that breaks the night,
Blessing and sacred gift in the midst of such tremendous fight,
The sleepy spirit you shall kindle and awaken,
Shadows will stagger and retreat, which once reigned on lands forsaken.

That is of the Angels the imperative word,
At the behest of the King, Cloud-leader and magnanimous lord,
To give light to a scattered realm, frozen by ice and burnt by fire,
To counter the rule of a vicious monarch, cursed and ever-known as liar.

[Walküre]

Delicate


Delicate is the equilibrium prior to the storm,
Such that feeble gust might make for terrible tempest,
Much apprehension fills the air,
With tension, a strange vibe all pervades,
Other troubles ahead, or even worse than mere skirmishes,
What if it were something wider?
In the broad world, where the bad may at any time befall,
Delicate is the sentiment of Men,
Who do not desire great harm or past threats to awaken again,
Delicate is this earth, upset and dishevelled, still harbouring good and thus dreading conflict.

[Walküre]

Treason will meet chains


No piety for the ruthless,
No mercy for such malice, unjust and senseless,
No beatitude for the traitor, even though he asks for pardon and wails,
No amnesty, as is the case for whom is kept in our gaols.

One may see the one-time cruel king,
Often were we to recall his crime and the gruesome deeds sing,
Treason will meet chains, without pity,
Be this the order, from the mouth of the true monarch, miraculous and mighty.

[Walküre]

Devouring the youth of your kin


You should not have gazed,
Into the lost art,
Of sight which fares beyond,
Shared by kindred ones, of great power,
Into a trap you were lured,
Sad demise awaits you,
From the pinnacles of the City,
Your noble kin you have sent to certain death,
You care not, behind decaying marble,
You sneer at reason and winks at folly, devouring red which seems blood, of your unlucky lineage.

[Walküre]

Saddened Eyes


Deeply saddened by such decision,
They were not to know via thinking or clear vision,
That unrest will stir trouble in the dwelling of gods, here,
Rendering friendly ties cold and bonds mere.

What will be of us, without joy?
Now that the Trees withered, killed by venom and deemed useless toy,
Our Noon is to rest in legendary tales, told by myth,
The Queen gazes at the parting convoy, reflecting in gloom, while the Vanyar of Aman begin the mourning of bliss and on dead spoils lay a golden wreath.

[Walküre]

Woeful Vessels


Summoned with draconian command,
As the clash infuriates,
In the heat of the battle,
To the worsening of war,
They sail rapid and sure,
Confident that his rivals will soon fall,
Open the gate will be, for the plundering of wealth,
For the raiding of havens,
One last stab in the back,
And the sea to Corsairs is to belong.

They thought wrong, though,
Arrogant and foolish,
They knew not whither their path would lead,
Not to prosperous shores,
Neither to rich settlement nor to trading camp,
Three Heroes they met along the way,
Of whom one was of Men the remaining hope,
The Heir had made a solemn pact,
Phantoms of the underworld came out from wicked stone,
Dead hands and cursed blades, which were the last thing that Pirates saw.

[Walküre]

Anger


Anger grows ever-deep,
Are you prepared for the leap?
Into the fury of war,
For the White Wizard has lit the fire of machinery and wood desires more.

Traitor, your act shall come back around,
To punish whom we are at the mercy of, once the old spirit strength has found,
Anger causes roots to move and the ground shatter,
Trees shall come for the head of the guilty, undoing every trick and tearing apart matter.

[Walküre]

To the ocean


To the ocean it must have been carried, in the words of our chief, the mighty wizard who's always fond of learning more about forging and crafting, in laborious manners and industrious is his mind, made of steel and grand machines which he ever imagines, longing for clout that spreads and goes forth,
He took that fortress as home, a fortified residence in the middle of sunny fields and gracious rivers, and the murmurs tell the ancient story of such mansion, raised in glory in the hour of splendour for that western kind of High Men,
The White Wizard is much versed in their lore, fascinated by majesty, in awe before past potency and as bewitched as he himself bewitches wood and stone,
The arts of speech he likes in equal terms, finding pleasure in the incantation of minds and in spells so powerful, able to move the ether and make clouds rage.

He thinks that the evil token was carried away by the waves of the sea, ultimately, unto the external shore of our shires, of which very little is commonly known.